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The Baptist Church
The minute I walked through the front door, one thought ran across my mind, “What am I doing here?”
That morning I had woken up on my friends couch, not knowing entirely what was in store for me. She told me the night before that her dad, sister and she were going to church the next day and she wondered if I would come with. I reluctantly said yes because she was my friend and that’s what friends do. Little did I know that going to church was quite the event.
Everyone was rushing around the house trying to get in the bathroom first. Puffs of perfume and cologne coated the air. I stayed sitting on the couch rubbing the crust from my eyes. When my eyes were clear of sleep I became confused when I saw her older sisters clothes. She was sporting a white skirt with a matching white cardigan. Her hair was strategically done in a fancy ponytail with her bangs just so. Black heels and a shimmering necklace completed the look. “Why are so dressed up?” I asked. She looked at me with the same confused face I had on and simply responded with, “Church.”
Am I supposed to look like that? I thought to myself. I was extremely concerned at this point and still wasn’t entirely awake. My friend was wearing a similar outfit while their dad had on a greenish suit and black dress shoes. His head was even newly shaven. As I saw this, it sunk in just how interesting today was about to get.
It was about 10 am or so and we headed for the church. While in the car, we listened to a comedian on the radio whose jokes were mainly religious. It felt like a pregame show before the Superbowl. I sat quietly, reading the first pages of the bible they had brought with because I had never bothered to read it before. It fascinated me to say the least.
Finally we arrived at the church, which was Baptist. I had no idea what that meant then and still don’t. We made our way from the gravelly parking lot to the carpeted flooring inside. It was a lot more colorful than any church I’d ever been to. So were the outfits everyone was wearing. I now understood why my friend’s sister had such a confused face when I asked her the question before. They were wearing every color of the rainbow. As I saw each hot pink blazer or blue feathered hat, I questioned more and more my decision to wear my Alice in Chains shirt. I’m pretty sure it had a hole in it too.
We sat down in the pews (which were quite spacious) and I asked my friend how long the service usually is. Of course the answer was, “About 3 hours.” And so I sat wide eyed through the over dramatic choir and exaggerated sermon. At one point they asked all of the new faces to get on our feet so they could properly welcome us. I thought to myself yes, why don’t we all focus our attention on the one person here who is not religious and is also wearing a grimy old Alice in Chains tee. Makes sense. In addition to having all eyes on the person who probably should have burst into flames as they walked in, apparently giving a warm welcome entailed singing to that person as well.
I stood there shaking, fidgeting my hands in one another as if it would bring me some sort of comfort. It felt like some sort of initiation into a very friendly cult. When they were finally finished I promptly sat back in my seat and waited until I could walk out those doors as fast as possible. When we got in the car I exhaled with relief. It was probably the best trip home I’ve ever had.
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